


Veritas

by Ruuger



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Post-The Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doggett and Reyes on the run after "The Truth".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> A bulk of this fic was written back when I first saw "The Truth" in 2003, which is why it's a bit different in style to what I write these days. Consider this a warning ;)

They travelled all night and day, afraid to stop. Driving, changing cars, driving more, convinced that they were being followed. 

Only when they were both too tired to drive did they stop, picking a small motel in the middle of nowhere. They paid in cash, posing as Mr. and Mrs. Sommerset, a married couple from New Orleans on their way to meet relatives in Canada.

John's hand was shaking as he signed the register. Monica put her arm around him only to realise that she was shaking just as much.

They slept with their clothes on, their guns at an arm's reach.

* * *

Monica was the first one to wake, not because she was rested, but because even in her sleep she could sense a certain wrongness in the world. It was as if everything was slightly off, like music played off key, and it was making her restless. She looked at John, still sleeping peacefully beside her, and decided not to wake him. They needed at least one of them to be able to drive later without falling asleep at the wheel.

When she walked past the open bathroom door, she caught a sight of her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized herself. Her hair was tangled, her face dusty and her clothes torn. Staring at her reflection she wondered what they must have looked like when they checked in, more than slightly afraid that their dishevelled looks might have alarmed the suspicions of the receptionist.

Paranoia taking over her she peered through the blinds, checking the surroundings for anything suspicious.

"If they were here, they'd come for us already," she tried to convince herself, yet kept watching the parking lot long after she was certain there was nothing outside that would suggest an imminent attack by supersoldiers, alien bounty hunters, or syndicate agents.

Finally the sound of her stomach growling in hunger forced her to accept the fact that, for the moment at least, they were safe.

* * *

They had left the suitcase in front of the door, to block it in the hope that it might slow down possible intruders. The luggage belonged to Mulder and Scully, but when they had switched the cars in the Anazazi Pueblo, she and John ended up with it. 

She went through the clothes, trying not to see the picture of William hidden between two sweaters, and finally chose one of Scully's blouses and a pair of Mulder's jeans. The jeans were loose at the hip and the blouse tight across the chest, acutely reminding her that she might never again see her own apartment or wear her own clothes. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath to collect herself, then closed the suitcase reverently as if it was a treasure chest full of valuables.

When she was dressed, she wrote a short note to John and went to get them food.

There was a small diner across the road from the motel, just a few tables and a jukebox, truck drivers in the tables and a middle-aged waitress standing behind the counter. Monica crossed the room swiftly, her eyes constantly wandering to the necks of the patrons, afraid of catching a glimpse of a deformity in the spine.

She reached the counter and quickly checked the neck of the waitress as the woman approached her.

"Was it your husband that you came with last night?" The waitress asked her before she could get a word out.

"Yes," Monica replied without hesitation. "Our car broke down and we decided to walk here instead of waiting for the tow-truck. Only turns out the motel was further away than we thought."

The woman smiled knowingly.

"I thought as much as I saw you poor things last night. I was just closing the shop when you two walked past me. You looked like you'd walked all the way across the state."

Monica smiled and ordered the take-away, making a mental note to tell John what she had been saying to the woman, so that their stories would match if needed.

* * *

John was still asleep when Monica came back, and for a moment she was possessed by the thought that he had been killed while she was away. She tried to laugh at her paranoia, but didn't feel calm until she was close enough to see that he was still breathing.

After they'd eaten, they flipped a coin on who would get to shower first, a childish attempt to pretend that things were normal. John won and while he showered she wrote a short letter to her family, explaining what had happened and why they shouldn't try to find her.

John came out of the shower just as she was finishing the letter. 

"What are you writing?"

"Just a letter to my family," she replied, sealing the envelope. "I don't want them to worry, but I don't want to risk calling them either."

John sat down on the bed beside her, and for a while he looked like he wanted to say something to her. She was about to ask him if there was something wrong, something more than the whole world going mad, when he suddenly stood up again, grabbed a towel and tossed it to her.

"C'mon, your turn now," he said. "We'll have to leave soon. We've still got a lot of travelling to do."

* * *

In the shower she realised that her skin and hair were saturated with metallic dust. She washed it off, vigorously, trying not to think of it as bits and pieces of Knowle Rohrer.

* * *

When Monica came out of the shower she found John sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the picture of Luke he carried with him like a talisman, and if she hadn't known better she would have thought he was praying.

She sat down next to him on the bed, but didn't say anything. Instead she just leaned her head on his shoulder and took his hands into hers as if trying to make them warm.

"What's wrong, John," she asked, but didn't really expect him to answer. They had known each other for almost ten years and there was a bond between them - a bond born out of darkness and death, perhaps, but a bond nevertheless. They didn't always need words anymore.

"We should have gone to Mexico," he said finally. "Trying to get to Canada was one hell of a stupid idea."

"Gibson said that they were going to come after us. That the best chance we had was to try to get off the continent. They know I have family in Mexico, they'll be looking for us there. Canada is safer."

She knew what he was thinking. They were abandoning their lives because a 16-year-old boy had said that agents of some shadowy conspiracy were after them. She knew that even after all that he had seen while working on the X-Files, accepting something like that without any evidence fought against everything he believed in. She also knew that he could sense the same discord in the world that she was sensing, the feeling that something had gone wrong, something greater than either one of them could ever imagine, and she knew that this was what scared him the most. That suddenly all that had been certain in his world was gone.

They sat on the bed in silence for a very long time. 

"Do you believe Gibson?" he finally asked.

"Yes," she replied, bringing his hands to her lips and kissing them. "I believe Gibson. I think he knows them - whoever _They_ are - and I think he was right when he said they'll come after all of us. We won't be safe if we go home."

"Then we'll go to Canada. There's still a chance that we might be able to leave the continent. Besides," he added with a smile as he stood up and began to dress, "I've always wanted to see Europe." 

She pulled him to a hug and kissed him, and for the moment at least, felt the falseness and the danger of the world fade away.


End file.
